


Tears

by argle_fraster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, HP: EWE, vague pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argle_fraster/pseuds/argle_fraster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny's reaction to the end of the battle. Post-DH, not Epilogue compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2007.

Ginny was caught between overpowering anguish that had hit her like a ton of bricks the first time she'd seen Fred's unmoving body– and, subsequently, George cradling his twin's head– and mounting anger that perhaps it could have been avoided if only they hadn't insisted that she stay inside like a good girl who couldn't handle her own. For a long time she stood as still as a statue, rooted to her spot in the Great Hall, staring at her family members crying and hugging each other. Ron wasn't there, and it was because Harry let him fight, and then she was mad again, mad that Harry could tell her what to do, mad that she was powerless to help anyone, and mad, more than anything else, that her brother had to die.

After what felt like aeons she could move again, though she bit back her tears. There was a bubble of pain in her chest, but there was too much else going on, and she could fight it down if she busied herself. She wanted to fight, she wanted to get revenge but instead she walked down the sides of the Great Hall and absently grabbed a first aid kit from someone nearby. There were herbs and salves and potions, and she stopped by the nearest body, a seventh-year Hufflepuff, and began to tend to the wounds. It gave her something to think about, even if the blood coated her hands and made her fingers sticky, and even if the stench of death hung in the air, cloying around her head and making it hard to breathe.

There was a long time when she moved unconsciously, helping those she could and averting her eyes from those who had already moved on. It was a dismal and grim sight, all the bodies lined up by each other, and Ginny was moving to the next one when she recognized the wisps of blond hair and promptly dropped the potion she was holding, her hands shaking beyond her ability to control.

Colin Creevey hadn't been her best friend, but he'd been a friend, and there he was, lying motionless in front of her, his hands devoid of the usual camera that rested there. He'd sat next to her in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He'd bumped her elbow to keep her awake in History of Magic. He'd studied with her in the library before Charms tests.

She stood up and took several steps backwards, nearly running into someone who was moving behind her. She couldn't tear her eyes away. She didn't understand why he was even there.

She thought she shut down then, completely and totally, because everything started moving in slow blurs, leaving trails of color behind that waved in the air like banners, and perhaps it was moments but it felt like hours, when she tore her eyes away and looked over to the large double doors marking the entrance of the Hall. There was a commotion, and shouting, and she wondered what was going on in a distant, detached way.

And then everything happened, and Harry was dead, and then he wasn't dead, and Neville was cutting a head off a snake, and Voldemort went down screaming, and she remembered all of that in bits and pieces, like a puzzle, like parts of a spell that needed sorting out. But it was all too much, and she couldn't focus on it, and the images hovered just out of reach, and she turned away from them. People were still shouting and running and she made it back to the Great Hall where the bodies were again, wondering why she'd chosen to return there of all places.

Her parents were across the way, gathered around Fred again, and Ginny knew she should go to them, mourn with them, cry with them, but she couldn't, because she knew if she went over there, it would make it real, and she couldn't handle Fred's death being real yet. So she stepped back instead, hovering near the doors, and she couldn't see Ron or Hermione or Harry anywhere, which made sense, because they were probably off somewhere together, celebrating, being happy and them.

More people were in the Great Hall, crying out for each other, finding lost friends and staggering at the sight of the dead. They were all around her, crowding her, locking her in her place, and she turned, wishing to leave, only to nearly run into Narcissa Malfoy, who had bolted inside the Great Hall like Voldemort himself was on her tail. She was screaming, nearly incoherent, and it took Ginny awhile to realize that she was yelling for Draco, and then he was running towards her, and then they were embracing, and Narcissa was crying, and Draco looked like a little boy, his shoulders slumped in obvious relief.

It was strange to see it, and Ginny stopped and watched only because of the oddity, feeling out of place, and even more like she should rejoin her family. But she didn't, and the Malfoys left the Hall, and even more people stormed in, but none of them were Ron or Hermione or Harry.

And she realized that perhaps that was the way it was always going to be, that she would always be second to them, and that he wasn't going to rush back to find her and sweep her off her feet.

It was that realization that truly hit her, forcing the sobs up from where she'd manage to keep them in her chest, and she fled the scene, running blindly through the halls to simply find somewhere alone where she could cry for herself, cry for Fred, cry for Remus and Tonks and for Colin Creevey, cry for everything that had fallen apart before her.

She had hoped to find an alcove or even a statue to weep behind, but instead she ran into Draco Malfoy, who was not with his mother anymore, and who caught her as she nearly lost her balance and teetered towards the ground.

She expected him to insult her or hex her or say something mean, but he didn't say anything, he just stood there with his hands on her arms as she steadied herself, swallowing as much of her tears as she could. And it was worse that he was silent, because Ginny wanted him to be mean, because then things could feel like they always had, and something could be normal again, and she could pretend that the war hadn't happened, and that Fred hadn't died. She sniffled and tried to muffle it by rubbing her nose with her arm.

When it appeared that he was not going to say anything until she did, and the silence was overwhelmingly uncomfortable, she raised her head to meet his gaze, which was steely and neutral, and hoped that her voice didn't warble as much as she thought it did.

"I'm glad you didn't die," she choked out, and was surprised to realize she meant it.

"I'm sorry about your brother," he replied, and she'd never heard him sound sincere before, not once, not even when he was taunting the first-years or jeering at Harry. Unfortunately, it popped the bubbles in her chest that she had been trying so hard to suppress, and then she couldn't stop the tears at all, and she was sobbing so hard that her nose was running and her eyes were stinging, and she'd never felt quite so stupid.

"I– I– Fred – can't–" she stammered, not even sure of what she was trying to say between the sobs, but Malfoy seemed to understand, and he, in what she could only describe as a rare act of compassion, pulled her towards him into an embrace, and Ginny couldn't do anything other than hold onto his robes, which smelled of brimstone and fire, and cry like it was the last thing she'd ever do. He was warm and solid and kept her standing upright, and his shoulder was just the right height for her to bury her face into, and his hair was actually a lot softer than it looked when it brushed her cheek.

She wasn't sure how long they stood there, and she realized after awhile that he was actually running his hand up and down her back in a comforting gesture, and then her weeping gradually ceased until she wasn't crying anymore, but still had a hold of Malfoy's robes. The fabric was clutched so tightly in her hands that her knuckles were turning white, and, feeling strangely sad about it, she let go, taking a step back and rubbing her eyes, which she knew were puffy and red.

"Thank you," she said awkwardly, glancing around quickly. She still could not see Harry or Ron or Hermione, and there was another heaviness in her chest, because they had still not come back to find her. "I– I'm sorry about your robes."

"They needed to be washed anyway," he said, and then one corner of his mouth quirked upwards, and she realized that he'd made a joke, and suddenly she was laughing because there was still too much adrenaline in her system, and her head was screaming and her heart was pounding, and he was laughing too, and a fourth-year that walked out of the Great Hall gave them a very odd look.

When her giggles had ceased, she wiped at her eyes again to remove the remaining tears.

"I should probably go find my family," she said almost wistfully.

"Yeah," he replied, and then she moved to pass him, except she stopped and looked back up at him. She didn't know what she had been planning to say, and she really couldn't think of anything else, so she just smiled a watery smile and started moving again, and when she got back into the Great Hall her mother was waiting with open arms, and she allowed herself to be led back to the others, and swallowed by the shared grief they bore.


End file.
